


Republic, Confederacy, Republic, Empire

by dptullos



Category: Star Wars Legends - All Media Types
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:07:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26779354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dptullos/pseuds/dptullos
Kudos: 2





	Republic, Confederacy, Republic, Empire

Republic, Confederacy, Republic, Empire.

That was the simple version. Seras had switched hands eight times during the Clone Wars, and that didn't count the time when the warlords were in charge. Lukan looked down on his old home without the slightest trace of nostalgia or affection. The shining globe of blue and green was beautiful from up here, but that was because you couldn't see the actual people.

"Feeling homesick, Ephrim?" He put a hint of grief into his expression before he turned to face the Captain. Just the right measure, not so sad that she would feel the need to worry about him but enough so that she wouldn't try to talk to him about Seras. There was a fine art to these things, and very few could get it exactly right.

When the Captain paused, a solemn look falling over her face, he felt a small flicker of professional pride. This was a small role, but Lukan still played it to the best of his ability. "Walk with me, Ephrim?" she said, abruptly changing the subject. "We should get out and see what's going on."

The answer was probably  _ Nothing _ , but Lukan fell into step two paces behind and one pace to the right, as a good steward should. The office doors slid open at Captain Amara's approach, and he followed her out into her command, watching everything around him. There was an art to that, too, a way to see without letting others know you paying attention. While ignorance was a form of suicide, the appearance of ignorance could be very useful.

So he hovered at his Captain's side like a good, obedient servant, enjoying the invisibility that came with this role. A squad of marching cadets snapped to attention and saluted the Captain, but they barely seemed to notice him as they marched on with their drill instructor. Lukan examined those sheltered, foolish children, absently wondering what they would become. Proper Imperial officers, or Rebel traitors? They seemed like models of Imperial behavior, all perfectly creased uniforms and polished boots, but Lukan bet that half of them would defect after graduation.

Fortunately, that wasn't his department. Lukan stayed with the Captain as she paced through corridors, hunting for flaws. One white glove came away smeared with grease, and Captain Amara frowned. Lukan could sympathize with the crew; why bother to maintain proper polish in an Outer Rim station that hadn't mattered since the Clone Wars? But the Captain was the one in charge, and she treated Sidibe Station like her personal Star Destroyer.

Lukan kept an eye on everyone who passed, observing their expressions as they exchanged salutes with his Captain, the furtive glances they directed at the Captain's back. All of the permanent staff had their own sins; that was why they were here. They weren't officially his department, either, but anything that could affect Captain Amara was his business. He knew about the crimes that brought them to Sibide Station, the corruption and incompetence and political battles that had deposited the rejects of the Emperor's service at the edge of the Outer Rim.

He didn't judge. Lukan never judged. But he knew, and knowledge was power.

The Captain's inspections were always random, with no discernible pattern. Lukan suspected that she just liked to keep the crew on their toes. As he walked with her through storage rooms, crew quarters, and weapons stations, Lukan let his mind wander just a little. Sidibe Station  _ now  _ could pass for a proper Imperial installation, with a crew that probably had more drills and proper training than most Outer Rim facilities. They even managed to keep their drug use to the off-duty hours.

Sibide Station  _ then _ , when he'd first arrived with the Captain....well, three of the storage rooms had distilleries the crew hadn't bothered to hide, no one actually reported for their duty shifts, and the old station commander had been stripping the station down to sell the weapons to a local pirate lord. Lukan had seen a great deal in his life, but he'd still been surprised by the sheer audacity of the station's crew. Having fallen this far, they had believed that there was nothing worse that the Empire could do to them.

In Lukan's experience, there was always something worse, but the Captain hadn't just had them all shot. Only the station commander. Lukan had been tense for months afterwards, wondering if the crew was going to turn on their new tyrant, but no one who ended up at Sibide Station had that kind of resolve or ability. Decades of patient, steady work by Captain Amara barely had them up to the standards of a normal Outer Rim station.

The hours flew by while they went through every room of the Captain's tiny empire. If he was the station commander, Lukan would have given up on this place long ago and tried to find some way to profit off his position. Making deals with pirates was too risky for his taste, but the authorities wouldn't be too upset by a little smuggling, especially in the middle of nowhere. There was nothing wrong with charging protection money for local shippers, either. Let them pay for the Navy's hard work.

It was more than a little unfortunate that Captain Amara wasn't willing to use her common sense. If she was, Lukan would have been happy to assist her for a reasonable share of the profits, and they could have enjoyed their exile with some minor luxuries. Instead, he was stuck in a tiny steel box with an Imperial Navy-issue cot, while she was in a slightly larger box with the same hard, lumpy, lowest-bidder cot. Perhaps honesty gave her a good night's sleep.

But if Captain Amara had common sense, she would be on Imperial Center wearing an admiral's uniform, and Lukan would be... he frowned. He didn't know just where he would be. He'd been playing "loyal steward" for most of his life. Where would he be, without that role?

It was a disturbing question, and it stayed with him as the Captain began the last part of her inspection. Commander Tychus would pass, of course. He always passed. Like the Captain, and unlike so many of his colleagues, Commander Tychus was the model of a proper Imperial officer. His olive grey dress uniform was as immaculate as it had been on his last posting, the Star Destroyer  _ Peerless _ . When he first arrived, Lukan had wondered how the handsome, dignified officer had wound up here, on the Outer Rim, when the first part of his career suggested that he should be commanding his own Star Destroyer.

As Tychus answered the Captain's questions in his clipped, precise tone, Lukan thought that he was lucky to be on Sidibe Station. The Empire might have legalized slavery, but  _ unlicensed  _ slavery still carried the death penalty. An Imperial officer cooperating with that flavor of criminal would need impressive family connections to avoid a firing squad. Captain Amara knew what he had done- he could see it in her eyes- but Commander Tychus never talked about it. He delivered his report with the same calm precision he must have used back when he had a real career, stood at attention, and waited for the Captain's dismissal.

"Thank you, Commander," Captain Amara said, clearly trying her best to keep the disdain out of her voice. "You have done an excellent job. Dismissed." Tychus saluted, spun on his heel, and disappeared to his duties. Slaver or not, he did his job well. Lukan had checked for any evidence that he had returned to his old habits, but he had found nothing. If Commander Tychus was engaged in illegal behavior, he was doing a better job of hiding it.

The Captain was heading back towards her quarters, and Ephrim prepared himself for the next part of their ritual. Today was the anniversary of the Battle of Seras, he knew his part. Once the cabin doors sealed behind them, Captain Amara took her seat, staring down at the polished steel of her desk as though it hit some great mystery. "Please fetch the Corellian Red, Ephrim," she said, dropping the affected Coruscanti accent that she used in her official duties. Amara spoke with a slow drawl, the kind of hick accent that her fellow cadets must have mocked.

Lukan retrieved the Corellian Red from the special refrigerator hidden in the corner of the cabin, an honor that the drink did not deserve. The hideous, fruity wine was a waste of perfectly good alcohol, but he obediently poured it into a chilled wineglass and brought the bottle with him. "A glass for yourself, Ephrim," Amara called, just as she always did. He picked one up, laid it on the tray and took his place at her side. "And take a seat, if you would be so kind."

She was two glasses in when she began talking. Lukan sipped from his first glass, drinking as little as possible as he listened. "Medals," Amara said, laying them out on the desk between them. She had an impressive collection of them, all Republic-era medals. Good service, bravery, tactical ability, bravery, bravery... "I earned them, you know. For the Republic." She took another deep swig of wine. "They gave me a medal after the Battle of Seras. Gave me a medal and told me to shut my mouth." He nodded, eyes fixed on her face, and after a second she continued.

"They said that Moro was the Hero of Seras. The man who won the battle. They gave me credit, too, praised my heroism in getting him off the  _ Relentless  _ before the ship blew up. And I nodded and went along. Went along like a coward!" She was nearing the very drunk stage, and Lukan put his glass down so that he could give Amara his full attention. "The  _ real  _ Hero of Seras was Master Kwo. He won the battle, and then they, they..." Amara started crying, tears falling into her wine, and Lukan came around to hug her and make quiet, soothing noises.

"Never forget, Lukan," she whispered, so quiet that he almost couldn't hear her. "It was Master Kwo. The Jedi weren't traitors. We're the traitors. We betrayed the Republic, and if I wasn't a coward I would have joined the Rebellion." She was sobbing now, and he gently reached up to wipe tears and snot away from her face. "But I was scared, Ephrin, so scared. People were whispering that I was an enemy of the state. Moro said that he'd take care of it, that I shouldn't worry. But Master Kwo was dead, and I just let them kill him!"

He held her as she cried into his shoulder, noting absently that she was ruining a perfectly good tunic. He patted her back and told her that she was keeping Master Kwo's memory alive, that she was doing her best to be a good officer, that she was still loyal to the Republic. It took longer than usual for her to pass out. Once she did, he calmly changed her into her pajamas and put her to bed, careful to tuck the covers over her. Tomorrow the Captain would be back, and neither of them would say anything about this until next year.

His own pitiful cabin was close to the Captain's, and he looked forward to a good night's sleep before he returned to work. There would be a proper dinner tomorrow, the Captain dining with her officers, and Lukan had come to enjoy his mastery of the steward's art. Turning their pitiful rations into something edible was a true challenge, and Lukan would pit his own skills against any of the pampered chefs who enjoyed the luxury of real ingredients.

The moment his door slid open, though, Lukan knew that something wasn't right. His hand went into his sleeve, searching for a holdout blaster that wasn't there, and he dropped into a crouch, listening for any sound of the intruder. There was a long moment of silence, as he grew more and more tense, then a low, hacking cough.

Lukan sighed and walked into the room. "I'm here, Lieutenant," he said coldly. "What do you want with me?" Lieutenant Tarin, Imperial Security Bureau Loyalty Officer and general irritant, coughed again. It was a painful, sharp noise, and it filled Lukan with a mingled sense of pity and disgust. That wasn't a bad description of his general feelings for Tarin, though right now he was leaning towards disgust.

"I need," Tarin said painfully. "I need you to report any disloyalty. It is your duty, as a good subject of the Emperor." Lukan nodded slowly, feeling more annoyed than afraid. "Failure to comply will bring," another fit of coughing interrupted Tarin, and Lukan waited impatiently for him to finish. "Grave consequences."

Lukan said, "I can assure you that the Captain is absolutely loyal to the Emperor." He put the horrified indignation of a proper servant into his words. "She would be insulted to know that you even had these suspicions. However, I do not wish to bother her with matters beneath her notice, so I shall not tell her." Rising to his full, unimpressive height, he stared down at the seated loyalty officer. "Now I must ask you to leave, sir. At once."

Another loyalty officer would not have left because a steward ordered him out. Another loyalty officer would also have looked into Captain Amara's record before he began trying to find evidence of treasonous sympathies. Tarin would have to depart soon, before he caused more problems. Hopefully his successor would be better; they could hardly be worse. As the ISB man lurched to his feet, he muttered, "There are others who see the truth. Others who know of her treason. You need to stand with us, steward, or you'll find yourself in a dangerous position."

Lukan shut the door behind him, locked it, and took a moment to sweep for bugs. There were only two, and both of them were painfully obvious. He made another sweep out of habit, just in case Tarin was actually competent. Lukan didn't think that the loyalty officer was the greatest actor ever to live, but you could never be too careful. His words at the end, the mention of "others", suggested some kind of conspiracy. Obviously any conspirator who went to Tarin was lacking good judgement, but they could be a problem. He would need to check in.

The HoloNet unit cost four years of a steward's pay. Lukan had explained it as an inheritance, a necessary luxury on the Outer Rim. A surprising number of the station's crew had them; there was nothing else to spend money on, after all. It took a moment to bring the HoloNet unit up, another few seconds to enter the proper codes, and then it was just a matter of waiting. Sometimes he got through immediately, and sometimes he had to wait for hours.

Seven minutes later, a figure sprang to life in the air before him. Imperial Security Bureau Major Galro was the physical opposite of Tarin, as short and stocky as he was tall and thin. While he looked like he would fall over in a strong breeze, Major Galro had the powerful build of a woman who could-and had-killed her enemies with her own hands. She gazed at him with cold, impassive eyes, and said only, "Report."

Lukan told her everything. When he finished, she considered his words. "What are your recommendations?"

"Reassign Tarin," he suggested. "Find out who else is part of his little conspiracy, and send them to...I don't know, Kessel or the Unknown Regions. Give us an ISB officer with actual sense, or one who doesn't care. The one before Tarin was a spice addict, and he never came out of his room."

Galro favored him with a nod. "Yes," she said. "Continue your work, Agent Lukan. Keep a close eye on Captain Amara, and ensure that she stays out of trouble." He could tell that it hurt for her to say that. "I will report to Moff Sidibe and inform him of your good work with the Captain. You can expect another bonus in your future."

He gave her a genuine smile. "Thank you, ma'am." The Imperials paid better than the Republic, though they were more likely to dispose of inconvenient agents. Lukan did his best to ensure that he was never troublesome to Major Galro. He didn't think she would kill him unless it became absolutely necessary, which made her one of the best employers he had ever had.

"And, of course, you should send the recording to me," Major Galro ordered. He nodded obediently, already uploading the conversation to the HoloNet. Whether Galro was collecting this for Moff Sidibe- or as evidence against Amara's old friend Moro Sidibe- that was not his business. It might become his problem, but Lukan's best option was to do what the major told him to and stay out of Imperial politics.

It was more than a little odd that "Tarkin's Right Hand" was such a sentimentalist, but Sidibe hadn't always been the dedicated agent of slavery and genocide that he was today. Before he was the terror of a hundred alien races along the Outer Rim, the Moff had been Amara's academy roommate and best friend. She talked about him sometimes when she got drunk enough, conversations that seemed to suggest that her old friend "Moro" was a different person than Moff Sidibe.

Galro said, "I will be busy over the next few days." She shook her head irritably. "Busy with more important matters than one captain. The Empire stands on the brink of ultimate victory, Agent Lukan, and soon the very idea of rebellion will be extinguis...."

Her voice cut off. Lukan stared at the HoloNet unit, willing it to work, but it ignored him. There must have been some kind of technical malfunction. He sat there for ten more minutes, waiting for the Major to call him back, but there was no message. Perhaps there had been some kind of emergency, though he knew that Major Galro hated to be interrupted when speaking with her informants.

Finally, he got up and started preparing for bed. The HoloNet unit would wake him up if Galro called back, and he might as well get some rest while he could. Slipping out of his steward's outfit, he hung it neatly on a hook before he changed into his pajamas. The cot was still lumpy and unwelcoming, but Lukan was too tired to care. His eyes closed, and his last thought before drifting into unconsciousness was the dinner he would prepare tomorrow.

His alarm woke him early. The HoloNet unit was still silent and dark, with no trace of a call, so Galro must still be busy. Rising from his bed, Lukan quickly put on his steward's uniform and began preparing a warm cup of caf for the Captain. She loved the stuff, though he despised it, and she would have a late breakfast. He could make something for himself at the same time. The caf was just beginning to boil when he heard voices in the hallway.

"Breaking...hacked...HoloNet...second Death Star."

"Rebel lies," Commander Tychus replied confidently, in a confident, carrying voice. "Go to your post, Ensign. Don't bother anyone else with absurd Rebel propaganda." Footsteps retreated down the hallway, practically at a run. As the ensign fled, Lukan listened to Tychus walking past his door. Then walking past the Captain's door. Whatever the news was, he'd decided not to share it with his commander.

Lukan was proud of the fact that his hands didn't shake as he poured the caf. He took the cup in his hands and marched towards his Captain's quarters, calm and untroubled by news that a steward had not overheard. A guilty man would stop to eavesdrop, but Lukan knocked politely on the door. "Captain?"

Captain Amara was sitting at her desk in full dress uniform, medals gleaming in the bright light of the room. Her hands  _ were  _ shaking, but she gave him a brief, nervous smile. "Put it on the desk, please, Lukan," she said. "And then take the day off." When he stared at her, she looked back at him, eyes bright with terror and something else he didn't recognize. "Take the day off, Lukan. Go down to Seras for a trip, see the sights. That's an order."

Like a good steward, he did not question his captain. He placed the steaming cup precisely on the cupholder, backed out of the door, and sealed it. He walked and did not run down the hallway, heading for Loyalty Officer Tarin's cabin. As he made his way across the station, he saw small groups of people, crew and cadets alike, huddled together in corners. They were whispering, but Lukan had very good hearing. "Death Star...Emperor...dead...."

Lieutenant Tarin was in his cabin, as expected. The other person there was not expected, though Lukan thought that was his mistake. If he hadn't been softened by decades of peace and quiet, he would have seen this coming. Commander Tychus looked up as he entered, wearing a thin mask of calm that might have fooled another man. Lukan could see the fear, desperation, and barely hidden ambition lurking behind that disciplined facade.

"Steward," Tarin snapped. "You are under arrest." He coughed loudly and painfully, glowering at Lukan. Absently, Lukan remembered that he had been sent here for failing to find a Rebel cell. While he had been chasing clues that only existed in his own imagination, the real Rebels had flooded his ISB headquarters with poison gas. Tarin had barely survived with serious damage to his lungs, and the ISB had promptly packed him off to a station where his incompetence wasn't supposed to matter.

Tychus was watching him intently, and Lukan reminded himself that the commander was no fool. "Lieutenant," he said calmly. "I came here to find out what is going on." He remained standing, folding his hands behind his back. "There are disturbing rumors going around, and I wanted to make sure that there was nothing that might disturb my captain."

The loyalty officer looked at him, and Lukan found all the answers he needed written on the man's face. Really, how had he passed ISB training? Tarin must have highly placed relatives somewhere. "That's not your concern," Tarin barked, trying to sound commanding. "You will remain here while we secure the station. Commander, by the authority of the Imperial Security Bureau and the Treason Decree I am hereby authorizing you to take command of Sidibe Station as the senior  _ loyal  _ officer."

"Indeed," Lukan said flatly, taking a seat without being invited. Tychus's eyes narrowed, as if noticing him properly for the first time. "You and the Commander plan to relieve the Captain of her duties. I'm sure that as a loyal Imperial officer, she will gladly surrender and face court-martial." Tarin smirked triumphantly, probably lost in delusions of triumph and a return to glory, but Tychus was not smiling. "But if your insane accusation is true, then why would a traitor simply let you arrest her?"

The smirk dropped from Tarin's face. Tychus frowned, considering his words, and Lukan felt real shame for the Imperial Security Bureau. What kind of loyalty officer didn't know how to deal with treason? "I'm sure that the crew will support you," he told them, keeping his voice mild and polite. He could see Tychus doing the same math he already had. Tarin was not truly feared, not as a loyalty officer should be. Without real support from the ISB, Tychus would have only his own authority and reputation against the station's legal commander.

"Attention," Captain Amara said, her voice echoing over the station's com system. "Attention, all cadets. All cadets are ordered to assemble in the docking bay immediately." Tychus froze in place, probably thinking the same thing that Lukan was. Captain Amara, hero of the Clone Wars, talking to a group of terrified, impressionable cadets. They would be desperate for authority to tell them what to do.

Tarin pulled his blaster from its holster, holding it awkwardly at his side. "We have to, we have to stop her," he stammered. "Commander, I need to address the crew at once, before she can spread her treason."

"Sit down and be quiet," Lukan ordered, rising to his feet. When Tarin gazed at him in shock, he added, "Corellia One Palpatine Seven Imperial Nine Loyalty, Lieutenant." He smiled triumphantly down at the ISB officer. "I've been suspicious of Captain Amara for much longer than you have. Now we're finally going to bring her down." Tarin nodded automatically, recognizing the ISB identification code, and Lukan turned to Tychus. "I'm going to kill the Captain."

It would be easy. Captain Amara trusted her steward, and he could murder her at any time. In fact, he could do it right now. He looked down at the blaster in Tarin's hand. "I'll need that." Tarin hesitated briefly, then reversed the blaster and held it out to Lukan.

Lukan took the blaster, snapped the safety off, and shot Tychus twice in the chest. As Tarin opened his mouth to scream, he shot the ISB man in the face.

Tarin died before he hit the ground. Tychus took a little while longer, gasping for air and scrabbling at the wounds in his chest. Lukan would have killed him more quickly, but he had to set the scene. As the commander choked out his last breath, Lukan carefully placed the blaster in his outstretched hand. He waited for a while at the door, listening for any sign of disturbance, but there was no sound from the hallway beyond. Lukan stepped out quickly, sealing the door behind him, and walked down the hallway at a steady pace, resisting the temptation to look behind him.

He was halfway to the kitchen when the intercom clicked on and Captain Amara began to speak. "The second Death Star has been destroyed, and the Emperor is dead." A passing technician flinched away from the words, but Ephrin just kept walking. The Captain had her job, and he had his. "The Butcher of Alderaan is finally gone." Treason. Open treason. "The time has come for us to rise up. Join me in the fight to restore the Republic and cast down Imperial tyranny!" Blaster fire began to crackle in the distance, several corridors away. Ephrin hit the control panel, stepped through the open door, and locked it behind him. The blaster fire intensified, and he heard footsteps rushing down the hallway. Taking the ingredients out of the cabinet, he began preparing the meal.

He was almost done when the blaster fire began to die away, and he put the roast in the oven just as the last shots slowed to a halt. The door burst open, and Ephrin found himself staring down the barrel of a laser rifle. His hands rose automatically, and he stood perfectly still as a pair of naval troopers moved into the room. "Don't move!," one of them barked. He was barely young enough to shave. "What are you doing in here?"

The older man reached out and pushed the rifle barrel down. "He's the Captain's steward, Private," he said. "And I think...," he sniffed at the air. "I think he's cooking a meal."

The Republic's anthem began to play over the speakers a moment later, and Ephrin found himself humming along. It had been a long, long time since he'd listened to it, but he still remembered the tune, if not the words. The naval troopers stood awkwardly by like an informal honor guard as Captain Amara swept into the room, brown skin covered in flecks of ash. Ephrin inspected her closely, looking for any sign of injury, and found nothing beyond a bandage on her left arm. "Captain," he said respectfully. "I'm afraid we can't use the Corellian Red. I regret to inform you that it is unfit for animals, much less officers of the Republic Navy. I suggest the Togorian Reserve as an alternative."

She blinked in confusion, then rushed forward to sweep Ephrin up into a hug. "I hate the stuff myself," she admitted. "But it was Master Kwo's favorite."

It took a little while for Ephrin to politely shoo his Captain out of the kitchen, but she was gone soon enough. Dealing with Imperial holdouts or contacting Rebel allies or something of that nature. It wasn't Ephrin's business. All his attention was given to turning the Imperial crest on the cake into something resembling the Rebel, no, the Alliance Starbird. It would be tricky, but he thought he could repurpose most of the icing.

As he worked, he found himself murmuring an old chant from Seras. "Republic, Confederacy, Republic, Empire." He paused. "Republic."

It wasn't any concern to Ephrin, of course. He was just a steward.


End file.
